There's No Place Like New York City

Chapter 4 - "A Six. That's Bad. Really Bad."

Chapter 4 – “A Six. That’s Bad. Really Bad.”

            Blake

Something cold rested on my bare chest. I propped myself up on my elbows and my camera tumbled off my chest and into my lap. Naturally, I picked it up and went through my photos. Every single snapshot of Holly was deleted… except for the one with her on my back, her head resting against mine. There were two new pictures too. One was of Holly, smiling her seductive smile, and the other was of a sheet of paper that affirmed in flowing cursive, ‘I don’t give up that easily.’

Damn, she was good.  

At that thought, she flounced into the room with a, “Good morning, Blake.”

When she saw I was topless, she shot out of the room faster than a scared mouse that saw a hungry cat with rabies.

I threw my head back and laughed. I wanted to love her, I really did, but I couldn’t. Not when she was going to be ripped out of my arms at any given moment.

I pulled a plain black tee over my head and announced, “Holly, I’m… decent?” My words sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Let’s try this again. Good morning, Blake.”

“Why, hello, dear Holly. Would you like some crumpets and tea for breakfast to celebrate this fine morning?”

She took a seat next to me on the couch and poked my stomach, “You’re funny.”

“Aren’t all hot guys funny?”

“Sure, sure,” she said rising from the sofa, “Do you have any fruit? I think I ate the last of your strawberries yesterday.”

“Really? I had expected you to eat the waffles.”

She grunted.    

“Um, how ‘bout cereal?”

As we munched on our milk-soaked, Honey Nut Cheerios, I asked, “Since Sundays are my day off from work, what do you want to do today?”

“Hmm…,” she tapped her chin with her forefinger, “Anything, but sightseeing.”

“Well, that still leaves a lot of stuff. We could… go to the beach, have a picnic in Central Park, watch a movie, go bowling—”

“Bowling?”

“Yeah, bowling. You’ve been bowling, right?”

“Uh….”

I brought my fist down on the counter causing the milk in our bowls to quiver, “That’s it. We’re going bowling.”

            Holly

There were about twenty or so bowling lanes, half of them occupied by focused bowlers. The polished floors shone with ten white bowling pins standing at the ends, waiting to be knocked down. We retrieved our bowling shoes and Blake revealed his own bowling ball. It was a sparkling, swirly blue with the number fourteen etched into it.

“Hmm, we need to find what weight is good for you….”

I tried an eight-pounder, but it was difficult to remove my fingers from the holes and it felt too light anyways. The nine-pounders had the same problem, so I finally settled on a ten-pounder. Blake let me go first to see how I bowled.

I shuffled up to the line and swung the ball with all my might.

Gutter ball.

I trudged back to Blake sulkily.